Pretty Track Marks
by DeniPie
Summary: Survival can sometimes come at a higher price
1. The Needle Made Me Do It

This has been floating around in my head for quite a while kinda distracting me from writing other things so I thought I might as well do it since my attention refuses to drift elsewhere. Hope you enjoy!

Much luv

The Deni Pie

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_P r e t t y T r a c k M a r k s_

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Everything, everything inside and out was nothing but searing fire, torching every nerve and blood vessel. Every muscle, every bone, every patch of flesh on his body hurt. He was nothing more than a tall, lanky, sallow ball of complete torture. Fortunately the hours had dulled the sharp, excruciating sting into a dull, throbbing, ache. It hurt to walk, it hurt to move, it was absolutely torturous to sit. But worst yet, it hurt to fly. It hurt too much to fly.

The sky was where he felt peace, where he felt at home and calm. And those bastards had taken that away, along with everything else that made him who he was. Stripped him of everything until he was nothing but their mindless little bitch puppet. Stripped him until the once looming, powerful, famous Quidditch player had to limp away with what remained of his shredded and tattered dignity. He was once named the best seeker ever to handle a broom, the idol of millions, and look at him now.

He knew his parents were expecting him. Knew his father was frantically pacing the fireplace while his mother continued to nip at her nails and glance at the door every seven seconds. But he couldn't go home, couldn't stand to see the way they would look at him, look at what those demons had turned him into. He didn't want his father's pained, regretful sigh, didn't want his mother's tears as she fussed hysterically over him. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was on his broom, cringing and wincing at the horrible ache splintering through his very tendons as he mounted it. He knew he shouldn't be flying, knew he shouldn't be aggravating his already tender wounds. But if he got off, if he succumbed to his torn flesh and crippled bones, they would win. Again.

Shutting it out of his mind he concentrated on his mental compass, calculating the right directions to take in the air. He had flown with broken bones, ripped muscles, and cuts from every which way before. And he would fly with this too. His mind may have said it, but his body had several objections and often demanded that he land to rest and nurse his injuries if only for a little bit. He hated stopping, it gave him time to catch his breath and too much time to think, too much time to hate. His forearm throbbed, seemingly laughing at him, and he was grateful he had ripped a piece of his clothing to bind it.

His breaks never lasted long and soon he was back up, more determined to get as far away from that wretched place as humanly possible. It was late the next night when the recognizable silhouette of the familiar castle came into view on the horizon. Leaning forward he used the aerodynamic momentum for more speed and raced onto the massive school. When he finally came to levitate in front of it he cursed frustratedly in his mother tongue, now remembering he hadn't a clue where the right room might be.

Heaving an angry breath he steeled himself determinedly and began to circle the enormous castle, passing by each window with a bit of anticipation and hope for a light to be on.

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Hermione deftly buttoned the last of her crimson, flannel pajamas with a sleepy yawn. She had finally finished the last of her rounds, and ushering overly curious first years back to bed was a chore vastly underestimated. But it was yet another responsibility, among others, of being Head Girl that she'd come to take very seriously. Glancing tiredly into the vanity she tied her bushy hair back into a ponytail, which looked more like a fluffy pompom or an enormous powder puff stapled to the back of her head.

"Perhaps you should consider nightcaps, dear." The mirror suggested giving her a critical once over.

She frowned back at the reflection, fists resting on her hips. "Perhaps you should consider minding your own business." She replied.

The vanity shrugged as the girl walked away muttering under her breath something about using compact mirrors from now. "Just giving you a tip, dearie."

Strolling into a bathroom she was at last able to claim as her own, Hermione plucked up a decent sized piece of floss and began to delicately twine it through her teeth. Ambling back into her own room she sat herself on the bed, careful not to jostle the string into her gum. She didn't know why so many students didn't do this, she rather enjoyed flossing, finding the sensations of the minty thread rubbing between her teeth to be quite pleasant. Then again it may just be the 15 or 16 odd years of dental cleanliness lessons her parents practically drilled into her since she was two. She could still see her little toddler self looking up at her father as he instructed her, by example, the proper conduct of perfect oral hygiene. Hermione chuckled as she remembered how he had taught her to count to one hundred and twenty as she brushed her teeth. _'Most people think a decent brush should last a minute at least, but we know better, don't we darling?'_ He would say to her with a wink.

To anyone else it would seem a grand display of a waste of time, brushing your teeth until you counted to one hundred and twenty, but she had yet to spot a single cavity since her teething days so that had to be saying something. She'd tried to coach Harry and Ron on the wonders of such hygienic upkeeping but she could tell they were only tuning her out until they could say 'Yeah, you got something there. Now about that arithmancy homework……' Well, if they wanted their teeth to rot out of their brainless little heads and suffer a horrible night of regrowing them then that was their business.

Hermione had just started on the top row when a sudden loud rattling almost startled her off the bed. Gathering herself together she brushed her canopy aside and glanced around the room, waiting for the sound to come again. It echoed off the walls once more, this time harsher and firmer than before and her eyes flickered to the window, shocked to see a large form hovering on the other side of it.

Once the initial fear and suspicion wore off she jogged lightly over to the sill, the night still covering the physique in unseeable blackness. She hesitated a moment before opening the window, her mouth dropping open as the details became clearer and the image much sharper. "_Viktor_!" Her eyes were as wide as saucers at his beaten form.

"May I come in?" He mumbled, his accent thick and harsh to her ears.

She nodded dumbly, stepping aside for the large Bulgarian to clamber through. Her jaw was still hanging open when she felt a tickling on her lower lip, only to realize a moment later that she never removed the floss now dangling from her two front teeth. Sheepishly pulling the string away she shoved it into her pocket with the mental reminder to wash her pajamas directly after.

Her delicate hand stifled a gasp at the very sight of him. He was like one big collage of gaping wounds and pulsating bruises. His nose looked like it had been broken yet again and blood crusted to his face and other parts of him that were exposed through the tears and rips in his clothes and robes. She noticed the right sleeve of his shirt had been ripped off and was now wrapped tightly around his forearm in what she guessed was his attempt at a makeshift bandage. "Oh just look at you. You look positively dreadful!" She worried.

Cautiously grasping at his shoulders she helped him the rest of the way through until he was standing slouched on her rug. "Come with me, you need to get to Madam Pomfrey!" She explained clutching his hand urgently.

"No!" He snapped, yanking the appendage away from her.

Hermione balked at that. "But she's the mediwitch here! You need help, you dolt!"

"I do not need your medivitch." He grumbled.

Her jaw opened and closed in astonishment. How could any idiot stand there practically bleeding on her carpet right in front of her and say he didn't need medical attention? "Fine." She bit out in frustration. "One moment, don't move." She commanded, racing to the bathroom.

He heard the squeak of knobs twisting and the flush of flooding water before she came back carrying what looked like a sloshing rubbish bin.

"Don't worry, the pale is clean. I only use this one for paper." She explained seeing him glance at the bin. "You should sit down. Here, use my bed if you like."

"I do not vant to sit." He muttered gruffly.

He seemed tired, and angry, she noticed how his large hands fisted and unfisted at his sides, how they appeared to shake with the irresistible urge to pummel something. "Alright then." She replied. Apparently they would be doing this the hard way.

Sliding the chair from her vanity it made a muffled skidding noise as she dragged it in front of him. Carefully kneeling on the furniture, Hermione stilled frightfully when it wobbled once before settling into the carpet. Leaning down, she took the soaked rag she'd dipped in the water filled bin and rung it out ever so slightly. Rising up on her knees to meet his height she began to dab at the cuts across his face and over his brow. "I wasn't sure what to use. Cold water helps against the swelling, but hot water sterilizes. I supposed since cuts can get infected we best see to those first." She said feeling a little uneasy with his scowling face, never revealing a single wince or cringe when she applied more pressure to the injuries.

"Your vater is still on." He groused, still able to hear the flood of liquid splashing against something hard.

"Yes it is." She agreed, softly wiping the last caked clump of blood from his nose. "There now, come with me." She ordered, stepping down from her chair and guiding him into her bathroom.

The water looked to be coming from the insides of a shower he noted. Turning back to the girl in front of him he noticed she was facing away from him, waiting expectantly. "I need for you to take off your shirt and pants, if you don't mind." She clarified, having that air of professionalism that she always had about her. When she heard no rustle of clothing she glanced back at him to find him simply standing there unmoving. "I'm not doing this for my own pervy benefit!" She glared waspishly. "Your cuts are so covered in bruises and gook that I can't see where one ends and another begins so I need you to get in the shower." Hermione demanded jerking her finger towards the spray of water.

Viktor finally gave a curt nod as she pivoted back around, and began shrugging his robes off his wide shoulders and down the tall length of his body. His shoes were next, then the socks, and lastly the torn pants. When all was done he stood there in nothing but his boxers, making sure to keep his front to her.

"Are you finished?" She questioned, turning her head to the side when she heard his consent. It was difficult to keep her face schooled as she twisted to face him. His body was covered head to toe in cuts, welts, burns, and bruises of various shapes and sizes. Sucking in a resolved breath, Hermione moved over to him, gently nudging him into the shower and under the spraying nozzle. Instantly a flow of pink water washed down his skin as the liquid mixed and diluted the blood found there, draining it down and flushing it to the drain. Walking in with him she didn't mind the shower soaking her pajamas and instead focused on the lacerations that were becoming easier to spot now that the water was cleansing the dirt and clotting away from the open lesions.

His eyes slid shut, letting the steaming spray wash everything away, the heat gradually relaxing his tense and knotted muscles. He stepped back until he was leaning against the tile wall, slitting his eyes open to watch her soft hands take a shower-cloth and tenderly pat at his gashes and abrasions. She wasn't looking at him, rather concentrating intently on her work, careful not to inflict further pain, but firm enough to clean the torn skin of any bacteria or infection. Her touch was soft, delicate, and nurturing, so unlike the harsh, disgusting, demasculinizing fingers that had been clutching and grabbing at him all too recently. Gazing down at her with half lidded eyes she looked impossibly small, her head only reaching below his breast bone. Seeing her like this gave him the overwhelming urge to grasp her in his arms, to press her against the shower wall, to feel big again, to feel like a man again.

Her flannel garments were now drenched and clinging to her flushed skin. And if he looked hard enough he could see the shadow of her nipples through the thick fabric. Her hair was thoroughly soaked as well, bangs and loose tendrils pushed flat against her forehead and her neck seemed to be straining against the overpowering weight of her waterlogged ponytail. He wondered if she would touch him still, if she knew the truth. If she knew what he had done. If she knew he wasn't even a man anymore.

Hermione braved a glimpse up at him before returning to her work. He looked so tired now, as though the wall were the only thing keeping his knees from buckling beneath him. The shower beat down on his lanky form, matting his short thick locks of raven hair against his scalp, hot beads of water dripping and running through the lines of his muscles. At last the water thoroughly cleared away the grubby skin, bringing it back to its normal sallow color and revealing every nick and incision to her inspecting gaze. She breathed a silent breath of relief when nothing looked particularly deep or life threatening. "Turn around, please. I need to check your back now." She instructed.

"No." He replied roughly.

A frown lit across her features at his incivility. "What do you mean 'no'? I _need_ to look over your back, Viktor." She said more firmly this time, grasping his arm in an attempt to turn him around.

Easily batting her away he crudely shrugged her off. "I said no!" He snarled.

She glowered up at him though it was a hard feat to accomplish with the shower flinging water in her eyes. "Fine, but if you suddenly find the flesh on your backside rotting off don't complain to me." She spat. Skimming the wet rag over his chest, shoulders, and arms one more time for good measure she tugged at the resisting cloth tied around his forearm. "Better remove this so I can have a look see. I'm sure this bandage has grown into an absolute breeding ground for bacteria."

Viktor snatched his arm away from her inquiring hands. "It is fine." He bit out.

Making an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, her brow furrowed frustratedly. "Look, you don't have to tell me what happened, but I can't make sure nothing _else_ will happen because of that if you won't let me clean those out properly." She explained sternly gesturing to his various burns and gashes.

His only response was to look away, saying nothing.

Hermione shook her head defeatedly under the furious jet of water. He was more than likely exhausted, Lord knowing where he came from. And she was no better off herself. It was doubtful that anymore could be accomplished tonight and they might as well turn in and deal with the rest in the morning. Hopefully by that time he would be more inclined to see Madam Pomfrey. She would have to hide him away here and pray the Head Prat wouldn't discover his newest piece of blackmail. "Listen, why don't you take the bed for tonight while I sleep in the comm-" Her words were abruptly cut off as a pair of firm lips came crashing onto hers and she was promptly hauled against a naked chest.

Too much had happened, too much _was _happening, and finally he could take it no more. She was shocked into mobility for a moment before she began to struggle against him, his worn body ached for him to release her and tend to the new pangs spearing him through, but he felt none of it. This was why he came; he wanted her to take it all away, no questions asked. To make it better, to kiss and touch away what they had done to him, to make him whole again. Her outraged protests drowned into his mouth as he kissed her so brutally, pummeling her lips as he wanted to pummel her body. His hand lost itself in her gnarled hair, pushing her ever closer to him as the other gripped her hard around the ribcage. His fingers pulled and tugged at the drenched fabric coating her body, desperate to have it off and hold her fittingly.

Clawing and pushing at him didn't seem to be doing any good and she was quickly becoming angry and desperate. When she felt his hand move under her top to fondle the bare wet skin there she immediately jerked her knee up to connect with his unprotected groin. He grunted painfully and she yelped as his knees gave way, taking her down with him. His shins smashed against the tile floor while her head hit the back of the shower door sending it careening open with a resounding crash. She lay there for a short while with him on top of her, waiting for her dazed bearings to return before furiously shoving him away from her.

Crawling out from under him she clambered out of the shower, promptly rounding on him with an enraged glare. "I now you're not exactly in the best of minds at the moment but don't you _dare_ take your anger out on me!" She hissed. "You may be hurt but try that again and I'll toss you out with or without that broom of yours!" He slowly rose up to his knees with a cringe at his jostled injuries. "If you're well enough to attack me so cordially then I suppose you're well enough to clean _yourself_ up." She spat throwing the soaked cloth at him disgustedly, fighting the urge to slam the bathroom door as she stormed out.

The rag hit him with a weak slap before sliding limply down his chest to the ground. Creening back he was careful to sit on his tailbone as he leaned against the cold tile wall. Viktor clenched and unclenched his fists, wanting, _needing_, to hit something, anything, to beat something down thoroughly. He knew he shouldn't have taken it out on her, he just couldn't stand that disgusting feeling of pure….pure _weakness_ anymore.

_---flashback---_

_He wore the same stony scowl he used for ferreting out a particularly devious snitch or intimidating an annoying younger year. The room was dark and dank and left the slimy taste of sludge in his mouth. He was here for his family, he was here for his life. Several cloaked wizards hidden behind white masks surrounded him as he stood in front of their master who was eyeing him devilishly. _

_"Should your present attendance with us mean you've finally come to your senses, little seeker?"_

_His voice slithered around him and tainted his skin, making him itch to cleanse himself of it. A curt nod was his only response, not yet able to make his voice utter such demeaning words of acceptance. The world is changing, his father had told him, the ones who change with it are the ones that live to see it again. _

_"I see." He purred. "You have resisted my calling for some time. You understand I cannot let it go unpunished."_

_He nodded again, his muscles tensing for the Cruciatus curse and possibly a series of other hexes and such. But a voice spoke out before a wand could even be raised. _

_"My lord," Viktor glanced over to see a man of average height look him over before turning back to his leader. "If I may make a suggestion?" _

_That filthy grin that Viktor so loathed widened into a crooked parody of a smile, as if already knowing what his servant might say. "You may, Avery."_

_"Perhaps we should first welcome him into our little family." He lilted, drawing out the word 'welcome' like a thing of perversion. "So that you may punish him suitably as a son and follower of your own, of course." He added. _

_He firmly believed the sound of Voldemort's laughter would be with him until his dying days. Instead of a deep baritone chuckle it was perfectly even and raspy, but it snaked into your ears and poured its grime into you until all you wanted to do was claw out your own eyeballs simply for the sake of extracting it. "That, my dear Avery, is an acceptable suggestion." He replied. "I'm sure you all would like to initiate your new brother properly." He welcomed._

_Viktor looked down at the man he now knew to be Avery as he walked towards him with his master's permission. His thick eyebrows knitted together with the other man's approach, giving him a brief once over. Had they been anywhere else but here, he could knock him flat with one blow. And still the shorter male didn't appear the slightest bit threatened in the least. _

_---end flashback---_

Grunting painfully as he climbed to his feet, he twisted the shower knobs until the nozzle silenced its spray. Stepping out of the already open door he was careful of the water dripping off of him, creating hazardous little puddles in their wake. He walked over to what he assumed was her toiletry closet. The door opened with a short click to reveal several plush towels, a few bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and a basket of randomly assorted soaps. Taking a white towel from the top of one of the stacks he proceeded to dry himself off, rubbing the cloth furiously over his sopping hair.

When no more drops fell from his body he carefully folded the damp towel and placed it next to the sink. Shoving his soaked trunks down his legs he wrung them out over the drain, trying to ignore the redness that seeped away with the water. Only then did he find himself looking in the mirror above the hot and cold handles. No wonder she had been so frightened when first laying eyes on him. His cheekbones looked bruised and broken and his nose was swollen and battered, every angle of his face was covered in purple and blue with outlines of a sickly yellow. Yes, those bastards had certainly had their fun before smearing his arm with that wretched mark of theirs.

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Idiotic, ruddy males! Hermione muttered a quick drying charm before slipping out of her pajamas in exchange for a robe decked in Gryffindor colors. She would find some more suitable sleep wear later, best to get something on now should he come out sooner than estimated. Sending another scathing look at the door she couldn't help wanting to give it a firm venting kick. Not that it would accomplish anything, which was why she refrained from such acts of childish immaturity.

Did every specimen of the opposing gender on this planet assume that all the world's problems could be solved simply with sex or a fist? She had only been trying to help him and how did he repay her? By jumping on her like a gorilla in heat. Hermione snorted, God should have left them at one head and stuck to it.

All righteous anger aside though, she should go and get her new bed in the common room set up, it would give her some decent space to let her irritation go. Taking a spare blanket from her closet she ambled toward the door, twisting it open to reveal the Head Boy lazily leaning against the frame, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "Can I help you?" She deadpanned.

He gave her robe a slow once over, his eyes taking on a new light as if they'd just confirmed a hopeful suspicion. "Actually Granger-"

"That was a rhetorical question. Get out of my way." She demanded, shoving past him and making sure the door was well shut on her way out.

Not to be deterred, he continued to follow her down to the Head Common Room, watching her splay her blanket neatly along the couch with a knowing smirk. "Been kicked out of your own room, have you? In the dog house as it were?"

"I left a window open this morning and now my room's too cold. What do you care, Malfoy? What're you doing up so late any how?" She bit back.

He strolled around the sofa with that oh so aristocratic stride of his. "I was just getting a good night's rest, actually. Then all of the sudden I started hearing voices-"

"I'm sure."

Ignoring her interruption and blatant slight on his state of mind, he continued. "coming from the Head Girl's room. I was going to let it slide as a trick of the ears when not a few minutes later I hear the Head Girl's shower running. Now I couldn't help think to myself 'What on earth would St. Granger be doing taking a shower so late at night?' and that thought inevitably led to 'I wonder what her dear McGonagall would say regarding such oddities?' Perhaps she could shed some light on all this mind boggling confusion."

"Yes, and maybe she could shed some light on the voices I hear coming not from _your_ room but _this_ room as well. And why, after doing my rounds, I see Parkinson of all people leaving the Head Common Room where, _according_ to Professor McGonagall, she's not even allowed." She snapped. "Perhaps she can also inform me as to why I've been personally basting this couch with every sanitizer I could get my gloved hands on before I'll so much as set my homework on it."

The haughty grin melted from his face faster than a snowflake in summer. Hermione could practically see the wind leave his egotistical sails as the opportunity of hanging something over her head quickly vanished from sight. "That's right, silencing charms on your room rather loose their purpose when your girlfriend leaves her knickers in the couch cushions don't they, you smug git?"

He glared at her foully, his once superior smile twisting into a pouting frown as she showed cards of her own, and what a marvelous hand they were. "Fine, I showed you mine, so you me yours."

Hermione sighed in exasperation, wouldn't he just go to bed and back to those soiled sheets of his? "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Oh don't play dumb you chit, who've you got stashed away in there? Potter? Weasel?" He inquired. Malfoy had always been quite the school gossip, never able to let a single juicy piece of information or rumor go without diving his nose into it. It was a disease really. "Or maybe you've finally broken free of your little ménage toi and bribed a mystery man to your bed? Why I had no idea you had that kind of money."

"I haven't got anyone 'stashed away', as you so crudely put it." She replied nastily.

Malfoy tsked at her disapprovingly. "Sneaking boys into your room, taking what many would consider a shower of 'questionable' motives, and now lying? I'm seeing whole new sides to you tonight, Granger. And I must say my world has turned completely and utterly upside down." He drawled.

Rolling her eyes she tucked the edges of the blanket under the cushions with a bit more force than was adequately needed. "I'm sure you'll discover some method of coping, one way or another."

"So who's the unlucky little sod?" He repeated curiously.

Hermione abruptly thrust herself up away from her task to glower aggravatedly at him. "Why! So you can run about the halls spreading wild rubbish about prim and perfect Granger living a secret life as a two-bit slag?"

He blinked at her, giving her that superior 'as a matter of fact' look she so wanted to smack off again. "Of course, why else would I want to know?"

"Oh go to bed you grand obnoxious prat!" She spat, trying to calm herself with a wonderful mental replay of the swat she gave that self-absorbed little face of his in third year.

"Though I would have chosen 'filthy whore' in place of 'two-bit slag', myself." He went on as if she'd never spoken. Seeing her seethe in response, he opened his mouth to add more insult to injury, preferably one about her tainted bloodline, unfortunately a reverberating smash blasted from her room, echoing off their walls with the noisy splintering of broken shards. When the ruckus died down it was quiet for a moment as her face paled of color. "Can't say I blame him, I'd probably have to throw myself out the window too after engaging in such acts with you." He remarked, idly watching her bolt up the stairs to the room in question.

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Dashing into the room she forgot to close the door in her race to the bathroom. Yanking back the knob almost violently, she came in just in time to see Viktor draw his bloody fist away from the remains of her sink mirror. "Have you gone daft?" She exclaimed, before immediately jerking around and smothering her eyes with her hands when she discovered is nudity. "Would you cover yourself so I can yell at you!" She ordered. Her hand blindly prodded along the wall to her side until finding the familiar closet. Pulling it open she managed to ferrate out a towel and throw it at him from behind.

Viktor caught the cloth at the last minute, grudgingly unfolding it and tying it about his narrow waist. The last of the vanity's shattered fragments dangled precariously off the frame before finally dropping into the sink with the others. A twinge of guilt rose within him at destroying something that was hers, but it was as if his body was acting on its own these days. "I apologize." He grumbled.

Hermione whipped around relieved to find his unmentionables appropriately hidden. "You apologize?" She parroted in awe. "You apologize! Viktor what is the matter with you? You _look_ injured, but injured people don't go around attacking others and breaking things all over the place! I won't ask you what's wrong if you don't want to tell me, but as long as you don't I'm going to have to ask you to get a hold of yourself!"

He nodded in compliance; no he had not been treating her fairly and could only imagine what he must look like right now. "I am sorry, Hermy-own-ninny. I haff not been myself lately. I haff been putting anger in places they are not belonging in."

Sighing exhaustedly she rubbed the bridge of her nose defeatedly. "Yes, yes I understand, its alright." She excused.

"Oh this is too rich."

Viktor look up as Hermione twisted her head to see Draco Malfoy standing just outside the bathroom doorway looking like a kid at Christmas. Hermione groaned and massaged her temples, not ready to deal with this on top of everything else at this hour. "I didn't say you could come in here, Malfoy." She gritted through her teeth.

"But you never said I couldn't either, now did you?" He remarked coyly.

"I made that _very_ demand perfectly clear the first day of the year!" She howled wanting to tear her hair out at the impossible situation he was putting her in.

"Well since we're getting everything out in the open I thought I'd gotten a pass to that rule." He sneered tauntingly.

"We're not opening anything! You're snooping around like a busybody little schoolgirl!" She cried.

He casually dismissed her and turned his attention to the other man in the room. "I must say Krum, I'm sorry we had to meet again under such horrid circumstances." He started, sparing Hermione a pointed glance. "Although why you're wasting your rage on that mirror when her face is right here, I couldn't begin to fathom."

The foreign seeker frowned at the insult as the female brunt of it fumed at the pale young man. There was something familiar about him and he wracked his mind to find out what it was.

"You're not to say a single word, do you hear me?" Hermione demanded.

Malfoy looked at her like one would look at a wad gum they'd just found on the bottom of their brand new shoes. "I'll say _whatever_ I want to _whom_ I want _when_ I want. Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?" He jeered.

"I think I'm the girl who would all too happily prance down to Dumbledor's office and tell him about all the 'evening friends' you've been bringing in here. I think I'm the girl who would joyfully tell who's been taking the safety charms off my razors so I can nick myself. I think I'm the girl who would jump at the chance to inform the professors who's been looking off my homework." She challenged.

Draco instantly jumped at the bait. "I'd never cheat off some filthy mudblood's homework!" He hissed in outrage.

"No but I can make that as true as the rest, you slimy braggart! Lets see what _that _does to your second rate grades!" She threatened.

He scoffed at her attempt to cow him down. "You wouldn't dream of lying to your darling faculty."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and settled him with a firm glower. "I'd think of it as repayment of justice for them overlooking so many of your own depraved slytherin stunts. Besides, who do you honestly think they'll believe?"

Clenching his teeth with the severe urge to hex her into oblivion he silently gave her this one. "If I were you, I would be sleeping with a good deal more locking charms on my door for the next few nights, Granger." He warned.

"We're at an understanding then." She confirmed in a resolved tone, stooping down to pick up the sopping mess of Viktor's clothes. "I'm going to see if I can ask Dobby to take these to the laundry." She informed stepping out of her bathroom and dorm room and moving outside.

Draco tossed her a look with a mix of loathing and repulsion as she turned the corner and out of sight.

"Do not speak to her that vay." Viktor commanded in a low and intimidating voice.

Glancing back at the taller male, Malfoy ran his eyes over him with that air of royal superiority. "Pity, such skill and talent wasted on _that_."

Viktor's eyes widened as he finally recognized those angular features, those stony gray eyes.

_---flash back---_

_His hands gripped the wall so tightly his knuckles went a bloodless white as the other man pounded into him from behind. He clenched his lids and jaw shut, determined not to make a sound even when he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. Determined not to give them that one last satisfaction. He was strong, he could endure. At a particularly hard thrust one grasping hand slid up the wall, his blunt nails scraping painfully against the cobblestone. _

_He heard a sound amongst all the sniggering and heckles. A distasteful snort. His eyelids slid open and to the left to see an older man with long platinum hair. The blond regarded them with something that teetered between boredom and disgust reflecting in those arrogant gray orbs of his. Another spearing jab from behind and the man was gone, his eyes snapping shut to block everything out once more._

_---end flashback---_

This boy, this boy in front of him must be related to that man. His son most likely, the similarities were too striking. He saw him glimpse lazily over to the forearm tied with a scrap of his shirt, his eyes sparked knowingly at the discovery, a devious smirk already twisting his pale lips.

"Quite the scrape you've got there." He lilted, eyeing the makeshift bandage. "How on earth did you get it?" He inquired almost innocently.

"You English haff a saying I am liking very much. I belieff it is 'none of your focking business.' " He bit out. "That is correct, yes?"

"Indeed." Malfoy drawled sourly.

Storming past him, Viktor didn't bother to move out of the way and let his side forcefully shove the shorter boy's shoulder.

Draco glared at him, turning around to rest against the back room wall as the foreigner seemed to be at a lost of what to do with himself now that his mudblood master let go of his leash. "Not one for beating around the bush, are you?" It wasn't really a question. "I bet that mark of yours is pretty fresh right about now, wouldn't you say?"

At that, Viktor stopped wandering aimlessly about the room, instead, standing perfectly still, his wide shoulders tensing furiously as Malfoy continued.

"I've got to admit, having a world class Quidditch player and idol of millions is definitely a boost for morale. Plus who knows how many fans it will bring in as new recruits, all wanting to grow up just like their favorite hero Krum." He leered, delighting in the reaction he was getting from the older boy. "But ah there lay the rub." He sighed with false pity. "I wonder if dear innocent Granger would want to play with you anymore once she finds out you've made friends with the monsters under the bed?"

Sadly, one of Draco's biggest faults was his penchant for the underestimation of others. Which is why he didn't see Viktor's fist swinging at his face until he was already laying sprawled on the floor with a gushing nose. Before he could retaliate or even so much as wipe the blood flowing over his upper lip, the Bulgarian was on him, thick bony fingers gripping his flaxen locks and pinning them to the floor while the other readied itself for another punch. "You vill tell Hermy-own-ninny _nothing_!" He gnashed heatedly.

"You muggle-loving bast-!" Malfoy raged but Viktor cut off the curse with another head snapping blow to the face.

"You say single vord to her and I vill hurt you." He threatened, his fingers digging into a patch of soft fleshy scalp.

"You seriously think you can do this and get away with it?" Draco sneered incredulously. "I'll tell my father so quick-"

"I DON'T CARE!" Viktor snarled. He could not face her. Could not face the shock and revulsion in her eyes if she ever found out. He knew he could not hide it forever, but he could damn well try. And no snobby, silver spoon sucking, daddy's boy was going to take that away.

Draco stilled, now regarding him more carefully, trying to dismiss the blood flooding into crease of his lips. It was never wise to toy with a man with nothing to loose. Especially when they had you by the throat. Anyone that didn't fear death was certainly someone to handle with a bit more caution. "Take your bloody hands off me." He hissed, now able to taste the tangy metallic flavor on his tongue.

Viktor considered him for a moment before consenting and moving off the other boy. "You vill not tell-"

"Why should I?" He mocked, standing up to idly brush invisible pieces of lint from his robes. "She's going to find out herself eventually. If I told her now of course she'd think I was lying. I'd like her to look you right in the face when she discovers the truth. That would certainly be a scene, now wouldn't it?" He jeered.

"What on earth happened _now_?"

Both occupants turned as Hermione walked from the doorway gaping at them, a small bundle of something white in her hands. "Are you serious! I know he's an infuriating little worm but I asked you to control yourself!" She scolded angrily. "And you, Malfoy! You're bleeding all over my carpet!"

The fair-haired boy seethed at her before stomping passed her and out of the room.

Hermione followed him to the door furiously shouting. "Don't you dare think you're not cleaning this up, you flaming ponce!" She hollered shaking her fist at his retreating back. Her only reply was his slamming door that echoed through the common room.

She mumbled a quick cleaning spell while thinking of other hexes to toss at him tomorrow. "Racist little bugger.." She grumbled. The red stains faded away and she looked up at Viktor who refused to meet her gaze, opting instead to scowl at her dresser. "For the last time, you take my bed. I'll sleep in the common room tonight and, if you like, we'll talk about this in the morning." She instructed tiredly.

Viktor shifted about uncomfortably at the idea. "Do not vant to burden you-"

"Burdening me would be not taking the bed and making me worry about you all night and forcing me to loose sleep over it." She interrupted waving him off. "I got some of these for you." She said holding out what he could now see to be a roll of bandages. "Since you're so keen on nursing _yourself_ back to health I take it you'll want to do this on your own as well?"

He nodded silently, taking the offering with gratitude. "Thank you, Hermy-own-ninny."

"Its alright." She yawned, too exhausted to deal with any more nonsense. "You can use anything in here so long as you put it back. I'll be just out there if you need me." She explained moving towards the door. "Goodnight Viktor."

"Goodnight Hermy-own-ninny." He said watching her close the door, hearing it close with a short 'click', suddenly feeling very much alone again.

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Okay so what'd you think? There really aren't enough Viktor fics out there and I always thought he was such an interesting and malleable character to play with. I've never written two on-going fics at a time before, mostly because I suck at multitasking and time management. But this will be an on going fic, unfortunately my first one 'Blinding Oedipus' will have to take first priority since I started it first so updates on this fic will be rather sporadic. Some new chaps will come sooner than others, as it were. N.E.wayz, I hope you enjoyed what I've got so far!

Much luv

The Deni Pie


	2. Blindsided

Well here we are again has kinda been pissing me off lately. I tried to start an account and submit Bulgarian Mascara to them and after 3 weeks of waiting they said it had too many grammatical and spelling errors. I re-read it and I saw like 2. That's just nonsense. They can accept an ongoing fic about Hermione licking feces off Draco's dick while getting pissed on, but a story that accidentally has 'who' instead of 'whom' isn't quite up to par for a website of such renowned status. Ah whatever, I like submitting my fics here better anyway…

Much luv

The Deni Pie

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_P r e t t y T r a c k M a r k s_

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Hermione graciously thanked her meticulous early bird habits for what might have been the ninety-four millionth time in her life. Had she gotten up even five minutes later than usual she probably would have missed him. Stepping groggily back into her room still trying to shake the sleep induced mush from her brain she stumbled upon a very much dressed and ready to leave Viktor. She paused, startled by the sight, her hand still on the back of the doorknob. "You're going already?" She gawked incredulously.

"I must leaf, my parents haff been expecting me back since last night." He explained.

Frowning in disappointment and worry she had the impulse to lock her window and demand he stay until Madam Pomfrey inspected him for herself. "Are you sure you should be flying in your condition? Its such a long way back." She fretted imagining him plummeting from his broom from exhaustion or pain.

"I vill be fine, Hermy-own-ninny." Viktor assured her.

She began to feel the heavy weight of concern bear over her shoulders, his excuses doing no good to ease it away. "Saying it over and over again doesn't make it true, you know."

Viktor tugged on his gloves, feeling the leather tighten over his fingers. Besides a broom, they were probably the most useful items in Quidditch. They protected the hands from blisters and helped keep a firm grip on the broom handle. "I haff not received letter from you for a long time." He remarked, disregarding her previous comment.

Hermione blinked, suddenly at a loss for words regarding the abrupt change in subject. "I'm sorry." She said finally. "I've been quite busy really. I was made Head Girl here. I suppose I lost track of time."

His nod was the only sign that he'd even heard her as he continued to right his robes and pull on his other glove. "I understand." And he did, how long could he really have expected them to stay in each other's lives when they were whole countries apart? When she was a whole life away? Loosing track of time. It was inevitable. But it didn't soften the bitterness rising in his heart. "You haff responsibilities."

Gazing at the floor, unable to meet his eyes she couldn't stop the bit of shame worming its way underneath her skin. "No, not so much that it would justify ignoring you." She confessed guiltily. Yes she had been made Head Girl, and yes she had been busy and given new responsibilities, but her insensitivity had been more due to her forgetfulness rather than her overworked schedule. She had obligations to her school and professors, but he expected things from her as well and it was her own fault for dismissing him so rudely. "But the year's half over and if you'd happen to have another invitation for a visit this summer, I'd love the chance to make up for lost time." She asked sincerely.

Things were different now. They couldn't rewind everything and act out the 'good ol' days'. They'd lost track of time as it were. And that's all they had now. Lost time. Time that could never be regained. Never be recovered. A clock that could never turn back the hours, the seconds, the minutes. "I vould like to thank you for letting me rest here. But I must go now, Hermy-own-ninny."

His accent was thick and gruff, his face that same assortment of tight lips and dark glaring eyes. For a second she thought she was fifteen again catching him invading her library once more with his round-shouldered slouch, dour look and duckfooted walk. Hermione sighed as he slung his spindly over the sill and took off, not sparing her a second glance. Her first impulse was to go to the sill and watch him until he faded from sight, but something held her back, held her firmly in place.

The sudden brush of something light and soft against her ankles caught her attention, taking it away from the blowing curtains and open window. Glancing down, she watched as Crookshanks twined himself in and out of her legs, making a perfect eight between them. Hermione smiled warmly, crouching down to pick him up in her arms, grateful for the small comfort. He let out a disgruntled growl at being hauled off the safety of the floor, but began to settle himself when she ran her fingers along his neck in a soothing manner. "And just where have you been you naughty little thing?" She cooed scratching the backs of his ears with her index and thumb. "Hiding under the bed? Did you not recognize that strange man in mummy's room?"

Hermione absolutely loathed baby talk, and would always cringe whenever she caught her mother doing it with the neighbor's new bundle of nappy wasting, colic infested, sleep disrupting joy. Honestly, how were children to learn to speak properly when their alleged instructors were doing nothing but 'goo-ing' and 'gaah-ing' at them? But for some reason all her intellectual standards and morals were tossed right out the door when it came to Crookshanks and that flat sour face of his that apparently only _she_ was capable of finding adorable. Fortunately she made sure she was in private when indulging in speaking to him like a love struck Neanderthal.

Casting one last lingering look at the billowing window she held the ginger cat a little tighter, more to reassure herself than anything else. Giving her head a regretful shake she went to her closet to get dressed before going down for breakfast, knowing Harry and Ron would be rapping thunderously at the Head Picture Frame in a matter of minutes complaining about how they would be forced to sit at the end of the table if she didn't hurry up.

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She hadn't been wrong about the flight being terribly long and tedious. But he felt it did him good. He was still horribly sore in more places than one, but his body no longer felt like it was being ripped apart at the seams. The good night's rest did wonders for him and he wished he could simply fly back home but knew he couldn't continue to stall as he had been. Firming his resolve Viktor slowly leaned into a decent, straightening up when he neared the ground and began to land. Before, when he had been younger and still learning the art of landing he would often stumble or fall with the momentum once his feet hit the grass. Now he could stop on a nut, knowing to pull up later instead of sooner so the speed wouldn't buck him forward.

Once he touched down, he scanned through the area, searching for something he could transfigure into a portkey. The chosen object ended up being no more than a stray rock, but it did well enough. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to ignore the vertigo induced blurs that rushed about him at breakneck speed, becoming a melting pot of raging colorful smears all mixing and twisting together to give him a grand headache. Unlike his broom, a portkey landing was something he doubted he would ever get the total hang of. Viktor let out a painful grunt as he fell headfirst into the slush and snow, his first sign that he had reached home in one piece.

Rising to his feet he shook the frigid ice out of his hair and robes, gathering the later more tightly around him. It was night once again and he squinted around the area, concentrating on regaining his bearings. Spotting the warm light of a recognizable house roughly a dozen yards behind him he started in its direction, his long feet making sizable imprints in the whitish powder beneath them. The large château became bigger, brighter, and more distinct in the darkness the nearer he came until he was finally at the doorstep, and for once no relief was to be had from standing before the thick wooden door.

Before he could even raise his hand to the knocker the door swung open with enough force to crash against the wall behind it. Jolting in surprise he didn't get the chance to react before the small, dark haired woman now in front of him leapt on him in a shower of tears and kisses. Viktor shook off his initial surprise and hugged her back, trying not to show his discomfort regarding the rough treatment his injuries were now having to endure. She sobbed his name over and over muttering her worries and thanking the deities in her own Bulgarian. His mother tongue washed over him like a soothing blanket, seemingly taking a weight off his shoulders now again able to understand and converse without fear of tripping over or misinterpreting another language. "Maika, I am okay." He mumbled, not knowing how to respond to her maternal fit.

"Vare haff you been, Viktor? It has been almost two days! You vill _never_ do that to me again! I thought…I thought they..I thought they had….." The stocky woman's reprimand dissolved into another bout of sobs and fierce, smothering hugs, trying to assure herself that he was really there, that he was really okay.

Viktor rubbed her back comfortingly, not wanting to upset her any more. After a few moments of further crying and bawling words he couldn't make out, she finally pulled back, sniffling and dabbing at her watery eyes. "Come in here, vot are you doing still out in the cold?" She scolded pulling him through the doorway.

Walking into the house was like walking through a wall of much needed heat. He relaxed and let all the icy coldness melt away and warm him inside and out. His mother hurried to shut the door behind him, removing his robes and whimpering in concern at the violent rips and holes she found there. Swallowing back her worry she hung them up and ushered him into the den.

"Viktor?"

He had just made it out of the foyer when a tall man with pale skin and a rather hooked nose passed the hallway, stopping at the sight of him. "Bashta." He acknowledged, not sure what else to say. What _could_ you say after what had been done, what they already knew had been done? His father's eyes softened sadly and he beckoned him into the house.

"Come." He said, putting a careful hand at his back and leading him to the fireplace in the living room.

Viktor took a seat opposite the sofa his father now occupied. He stared at the wavering flames brooding slouched in his chair. What did you say when there was simply nothing left to be said?

"I did not think it vould take so long." His father started, looking him over.

What did he know of how long it was supposed to take? he thought sourly. "It didn't." Viktor curtly replied.

The older man nodded, understanding and accepting his son's antipathy. He let his gaze skim over his sharp profile, noting every scratch, every welt, every bruise. He sighed regretfully, hanging his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. It could have gone worse, he supposed, but it could have gone so much better as well. Making a firm promise to himself, he resolved to never question Viktor about the details of what had happened. He doubted his son would ever want to relive such atrocities, and he didn't think he could handle knowing about them either. He wanted to say something though, but what was he supposed to tell him? You did the right thing, son? Adding more pressure to the top of his nose he tried to fight off his rising frustration. Who was he to say what was wrong and what was right anymore? The lines were so blurred and hazy these days. Now it was almost impossible to tell the difference between the right thing to do and the smart thing do to. Luckily the dainty clattering of porcelain and silverware saved him from any forced conversation of discomfort and unease.

"Viktor, I haff brought you some tarator. You must be starfing." His mother said sympathetically, carrying over a tray of soup, hot drinks, and bread.

Fisting his hands on his knees, Viktor shook his head negatively. "I am thinking I vould rather eat at my own home, Maika." He replied sternly, rising from his chair.

The dark haired woman balked at him, stunned, and even his father's eyes widened in surprise at this. "But, but you haff just gotten here!" She squawked, almost dropping the tray but luckily her husband caught it in time and set it aside.

Nevertheless Viktor continued back towards the door only muttering brief apologies as he passed her. She cried out his name tears coming to her eyes again as she urgently tugged at him, following him down the hallway. "Viktor I beg of you-"

"Let him go, Devora." Her husband chided, gently but firmly grasping her shoulders as she pleaded with her son.

Before she could shrug him off, Viktor was already out the door again, the thick wood shutting heavily in his wake. Whirling around furiously she slapped his chest in a flood of angry tears. "Let him go! I let him go once and look how he has come back to me, Edik!" She shrieked.

The tall man let her take her anger out with her miniature fists until they faded into another round of sobbing and hysterical clutching. "He needs time, slatko matze." He answered softly. "Give him time."

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His broom was lost and he doubted it would ever be found again in all the snow. At least not until Summer, and it most likely not by him. Apparating back to his own home he had purchased only a couple of years ago he found that he welcomed the solitude residing there. The house was small and only possessed two house elves of its own but bigger homes always seemed too vast, too ominous, too empty. Smaller homes were much cozier and easier to fill.

He trudged in feeling exhausted and much older than he was or should feel for his age. Immediately the elves of the house popped out of nowhere, gushing over his return, practically fighting over taking his robes and coat. Slinking into his study he sunk heavily in front of the fireplace into a cushioned chair of his own. He could hear the house elf that apparently lost the hanging-of-the-coat-contest punishing himself against the kitchen wall while the other happily stirred something he hoped was warm. The answer to his question appeared with another pop in the form of a steaming mug suddenly shoved into his face. Reclining his head back to see the large glass entirely, he took it, wrapping his fingers around the cup, his thick knuckles standing out against the brown pottery. Taking a sip he half listened to the elf as it chattered away in excited Bulgarian, though the poor, uneducated grammar left something to be desired.

"Avel made the master his own special drink!" He beamed. "He puts honey in the airian this time, and he warms it too! Is good, yes?" He inquired eagerly.

Viktor nodded, he had to admit it did taste different, in a better way. "You did vell, Avel."

The words had no sooner left his mouth than the other house elf appeared glowering spitefully at Avel, carrying a tray of bread and an open jar of something that looked like a cross between chocolate and peanut butter. "Master can'ts fill up on airian." He jeered, giving the other elf a pointed look. "Efim brings some toast and nutella." He announced proudly thrusting the tray up at Viktor. "Efim makes more if master is vanting?" He asked hopefully.

"I vould like to be left alone now." Viktor replied, resting his head against the tall back of the chair.

Avel's ears fell dramatically in exaggerated sorrow, already thinking of a punishment fitting such a crime as displeasing his gracious host. "Master is not happy?"

"Master is tired." He repeated.

The two gave a reluctant nod and obediently disappeared as he'd wished. Viktor let out a relaxed breath and mad himself comfortable in his seat, the heat from the flames bouncing off the fronts of his defrosting skin. In the few letters she had written him, Hermione had once mentioned some sort of campaign she was trying to put together, he couldn't remember the name but it was basically for the betterment of elfish rights or something or other. He couldn't help but laugh sentence after sentence, picturing her serious expression and composure while writing something to blatantly silly. He could only imagine the outrage on Efim and Avel's faces should he ever hand them a pair of mittens and tell them he was turning them loose.

Taking one more swig of the honeyed airian he set it down before decidedly popping the nutella laden butter knife in his mouth. Efim had obviously wanted to add his own two cents and it was best not to ignore him. House elves were quite the jealous creatures when given decent reasoning. Plus, he'd sooner lick a patch of the delicious substance off the floor than let a drop of it go to spoils. He'd first found a jar of the wonderful mixture at Hogwarts and become so enamored with it he'd made sure he'd always had a lasting supply of it at his own home ever since.

Sucking the knife of every last bit he finally relinquished it back to its rightful container before resuming his previous dwelling. He would have to buy another broom early tomorrow, he had a Quidditch match late that afternoon. It was funny, in a rather morbid way, that the whole world was changing before his very eyes and he was still expected to be at practice. It wasn't a big game, not like Ireland, but he was expected to be the first one there anyway. They were playing Russia, it wasn't as if the team wasn't good, they just had such poor funding that he doubted they would ever get the financial support necessary to achieve their full potential. Talent only went so far, it was like an old saying, you could be a master of the sword but when everyone else has a gun what does it matter?

Now though, his team wasn't his only priority, at least not the first, anymore. He was one of _them _now. If his dark mark beckoned him, it didn't matter if he had just caught the snitch in the middle of the Quidditch field, he would have to go. What did you do when the thing you were most repulsed by was now the number one precedence in your life? Viktor idly lifted his arm, his fingers grasping the little knot he'd tied it with and slowly began to unravel it. Bit by bit, it came apart until he could see the whole of the grotesque skull and snake in all its monstrous glory. The serpent swiveled out of the gaping jaw, flickering at him mockingly. He gazed at it longer, his muscles tensing furiously the more he watched it, until finally he aggressively snatched the innocent butter knife from the jar, falling out of the chair to his knees and sunk the serrated edge into the tainted skin.

Burning pain seared through his arm as he dug the knife viciously into the damnable mark, desperately carving, desperately cutting. He had no sooner begun drawing blood than a piercing wail broke out from behind him, small arms flinging themselves around him in a vice-like grip. The feminine form struggled fiercely with him grappling for the knife he was viciously scoring into his forearm.

"Stop it! Stop it! Give it to me Viktor!" She cried.

Viktor growled irritatedly and continued to shove her away. "Get avay, Maika!" He snarled.

But she came at him again, this time throwing her arm around his eyes to blind him long enough to wrestle the butter knife away. Once she seized it she hurriedly shoved it behind her back, climbing to her feet and quickly stumbling away from him.

Viktor rose up angrily and advanced on her. "Give it back to me, I can stand this no longer!" He growled.

His mother stood her ground unafraid. "I vill not! You are hurting yourself!"

"I am getting rid of _this_!" He shot back, thrusting his butchered arm at her. "I vill not look at it anymore!"

"Then do not look!" She retaliated.

Glowering furiously he caught a silvery gleam shining behind her back and lunged at her.

She squealed in surprise but easily dodged his clumsy attempt. "Efim!" She hollered. Instantly the house elf appeared before her all a twitter, excited to have a new chore. Unfortunately his elation was short lived, the earnest smile vanishing at the rage present on his master's face. "Take this avay!" She commanded shoving the blade at Efim.

"You vill not!" Viktor shouted. "She is not your master. Give it to me!"

"Look at his arm, Efim." Devora urged, pointing at the bloody appendage. "He is trying to hurt himself vith it. You are not vanting him hurt, are you?"

The little elf followed her finger to the gaping wound and shook his head in fright, immediately yanking the new weapon from her and disappearing before his master could grab him.

Viktor growled heatedly, gripping the nightstand with the bread and airian and heaving it across the room. The furniture smashed against the wall in a grand firework display of splintering wood and shattered glass. "This is vot you vant?" He barked, jerking up his sleeve to better reveal the now sliced up mark. "You are happy now, yes!" He sneered.

"I am happy you are alife!" She retorted defiantly.

He scoffed at her, crossing the room to get in her face. "Alife for vot?" He spat. "Vot life? The life of a servant to a murderous madman! That is the life vorth safing!"

Her eyes watered pitifully as she stared him down. "Any life," she hissed "vare I know you are still breathing, is a life vorth safing."

Shaking his head he looked away from her, not wanting to see any more tears in her eyes. Slowly he felt the fight drain out of him and he relented. "I do not vant to vake up alvays vith this on my arm, Maika." He whispered weakly.

His mother cupped his face tenderly, bringing him to meet her loving gaze. "It vill get better, my lof. I promise you, it vill get better."

"I do not know if I can vait that long." He sorrowfully confessed.

Devora embraced him fiercly, her small arms trapping him with a powerful grip. "Parents vere not meant to outlif their children, God did not make it so. And my heart vould shrifel up inside me and die if it vere ever to happen." She wept. "Viktor I could not stand it!"

Rubbing her back did not seem to have the usual comforting effect it always had before and now she only cried harder.

"He vould haff killed you Viktor! I know it!" She said harshly. "If you stood in his vay he would haff killed you!"

"Instead, then, I should join vith the devil and lif in fear?" He rejoined sourly.

She pulled away and held him firmly at arms length giving him a thorough shake. "No! Instead you should just lif! That is vot I'm asking, Viktor! Do you know vot he does vith his enemies? He kills them! He does not ask questions! Do you know vot the ministry does vith their enemies? They capture them, they take them in, they interrogate them, and if they are not villing participants of crime they let them go! Could you honestly say _he_ vould be so generous?" She asked vehemently. "I vill not stand vith those other griefing idiot mothers who sent their sons out to fight a loosing battle for the sake of _righteousness_." She spat the word like it left a vile taste on her tongue. "They cry, but they cry proud. They cry proud because they say their sons died an _honorable_ death, died fighting for 'the cause.' I vill tell you now, there is no cause vorthy of me sending my child avay for. There is no such thing as dying honorably, and I vill not let any cause or ministry make a martyr of my son."

Viktor listened to her but found no reassurance in her words. Yes, Voldemort was a more dangerous and lethal enemy than the ministry, but he would still rather be struck down by the hand of the devil than stand at the right side of it. Unfortunately it seemed the situation was much more complicated than a simple question of what he wanted for himself.

Taking him by the undamaged arm she began to lead him into the kitchen. "Come, you are bleeding into your shirt."

He let her take him to the table, sitting down almost mechanically. He felt drained, numb and drained as she left from his sight for a moment. The sound of rushing water vaguely filtered through his ears, reminding him of his time in Hermione's room. She came back carrying a rag, some new bandages and a bowl of water. Carefully lifting his arm she began to blot the torn skin gently with the wet cloth. "He is killing people, Maika. And he vill make me kill people also." He spoke softly.

Devora sighed, wiping the last of the blood away. "I did not say this choice vould be easy. But what must be, must be."

"You vould haff me kill innocent people?" He asked looking up from the gashes peppering his skin.

"I vould haff you lif, Viktor. You cannot fight for good if you are dead. At least this vay you may lif to fight for righteousness another day." She replied coolly, beginning to wrap the new bandages around the clean lacerations.

The last of his wound was wrapped and he didn't even wince when she tied it a little too sharply. Standing up she brushed her robes free of any dirty or lint it might have acquired in the scuffle. "I vill stay here tonight." She announced.

"No, go home Maika. There vill be no more hurting tonight, I am too tired." He rebuked, his voice even and exhausted.

She eyed him suspiciously before seeming satisfied that he would indeed not try anything more. "I vill haff Efim vatching you." She warned.

"Yes." He relented.

She appeared hesitant for a moment but did not object. "You haff a match tomorrow, yes?"

"Ve are playing Russia." He agreed not really paying that much attention.

"Your father and I vill be vatching then." She declared firmly, kissing him lightly on the forehead. When he did not respond she took his face in her small hands once more. "You know that this if for the best, don't you?"

Her dark eyes seemed to beseech him, to beg him to understand. And he did. But that did not mean he had to agree with it or feel good about himself for it. "Yes, Maika."

She smiled warmly at that and gave his brow one last kiss before taking her leave.

Viktor leaned back in his chair with a heavy breath as she apparated away. It felt like there was a dull, droning weight constantly bearing down on his back and there was nothing he could do to get rid of it. Picking himself up he left the kitchen, passing through the den and straight to his room. As he removed his clothes he didn't even bother to fold them neatly aside as he usually did and instead simply threw them haphazardly on the floor before lifting the covers of his bed and sliding between the sheets. Last night he had been so physically exhausted he had no strength left to toss and turn, now though, he wondered what it would take to make sleep come easy again.

Staring up at the ceiling he tried to think of other things, things that had nothing to do with the war, with Voldemort, or how he had turned his back on everything that he was, that he was raised to be. How could his parents talk to him as though this were simply something that must be done? As though it were only something to bear and tolerate. They knew nothing of what was going on. They had no idea of the lengths this wicked madman was willing to go to. His father was right, the world was changing. Though he had no idea how fast. Dumbledore was gone, the Potter boy was still too green, there was nothing left to stop him now. The day of reckoning was growing closer like an ominous black cloud. "Avel!" Viktor called.

The elf immediately appeared at his bedside, his ears drooped in worry. "Master?"

"Get me a sleeping draught." He said.

"Yes master."

Viktor threw his arm over his head as the house elf vanished from sight. Apparently he would be getting more acquainted with the syrupy potion from now on. He would have to remind himself to order it in bulk in the morning.

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_Bashta_ – Father

_Maika _– Mother

_Slatko Matze_ – Sweet Kitten

_Airian_ – It's a drink that's not only popular in Bulgaria but most other countries as well. And no its not liquor as far as I know. I mean, u can add liquor to it, like eggnog or something but it's basically yogurt, mineral water, salt, and some lemon. Its pretty thick and sweet, but I like it too.

Well how was it? Shorter I know but there really wasn't much that could be done in this chapter, its still early and what not. So tell me what you think, R&R. I'm shocked that this fic hasn't gotten anywhere near as many reviews or favs as Bulgarian Mascara. I guess that's cause I suck at summaries, don't ask me why, I just do.

Much luv

The Deni Pie


	3. 3rd Degree Burns

Oki doki here we are again. I saw the new king kong movie and it was pretty good. The acting was undeniably cheesy in the beginning, I was really surprised at how amateur such an awesome actress like Naomi Watts was in the first hour, but it got a lot better. In the beginning its like you're watching a high school play the acting is so bad, with the exception of Jack Black. Any who, on with the fic.

Much luv

The Deni Pie

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_P r e t t y T r a c k M a r k s_

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The bludger missed his face by mere inches this time. Viktor managed to snap his head back at the last second, just in time to see the ball rage past his nose. He couldn't even afford a five second break to sigh in relief at the bare dodge. It seemed the Russians were trying to overcompensate for their out of date brooms and poor equipment by studying up on him and his past matches. He was trying every trick he knew and yet somehow they were able to predict and counter every move he made until all he had left to go on were instinct and intuition. He'd attempted the wronski feint but the opposing seeker never bought it and ended up getting more time to ferret out the snitch while Viktor pulled up and tried to make up for his mistake.

The other team was still a good deal behind them but with the way things were going he'd feel much better if he got to the snitch first. Unfortunately it was easier said than done. Apparently the Russians were becoming a little bitter with their loosing streak. Making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat he rose to the middle of the stadium trying to clear his head and concentrate. Scanning the audience he noticed the opposing team's section was definitely lacking in supporters, evidently their fans were becoming a little bitter with their loosing streak too. On the other side he could see his parents in the top box, his mother linking arms with his father and waving wildly at him, her neck cloaked in a Bulgarian scarf.

His fists clenched his broom impatiently, gritting his teeth in irritation. Where _was _the damned thing! Just as he was about to make a turn to patrol the other side, his eyes caught a glittering in the direction of his parents. Viktor stopped and squinted, barely able to make out a faint shimmer flashing in the place where his father's head would have been had he been closer. The snitch! He controlled his immediate instinct to dive for it, instead trying his best not to alert the other seeker. Glancing in his direction he saw his error, his opponent had been watching him too carefully and followed his gaze. They made eye contact only once, and could see that they both knew the other had found the discovery.

Viktor instantly lunged forward, raging across the pitch but the opposing seeker was soon attached firmly to his side. The snitch became easier to make out and they both gave furious chase as it zipped about the arena. It seemed the closer they got to it the closer the other man would get to him, until their sides were almost touching. A sudden thrusting shove at his ribs batted his focus away only for a second until he scowled at his opponent. He was trying to knock him off his broom! He wasn't that surprised, it wasn't uncommon, but it was still seen as a cheap shot and he had thought the other team to be above such shoddy tricks.

The driving rams continued at him and now the other seeker was beginning an attempt at elbowing him in the face. What the hell were the damned beaters doing! They were gaining perilously close to the flitting golden ball and Viktor was having all he could stand. Loosening his foot-grip he anticipated the next aggressive shove, and let it knock him halfway off. Keeping a tight grip on the handle, as he fell he looped forward underneath the shaft and into the other seeker delivering a sharp kick, sending him careening off the broom and into the pit below.

Hoisting himself back up he continued his chase. Let the little cheats call foul. He would say it was an accident. He could hear the small visiting audience howl in outrage but decidedly ignored it. He had heard no call for penalty, so as far as the game was concerned he had done nothing wrong. Diving faster he began to make out the snitch's darting pattern. Right! Up! Left! Down! Forward! Right! Up! Just as it was about to make its next turn, Viktor sped up and made a swipe at it.

The milliseconds right before your hand touches the snitch were always the longest, seemingly drawn out forever until you felt that weight bump against your fingers.

He heard the victorious roar of the crowd before he even trapped the fluttering ball in his grasp. Snagging it and crushing it to his palm he drew back with a relieved breath, finally thrusting it in the air for all to see. His own weary panting drowned out the booming voice of the announcer and he vaguely acknowledged his recognition as he lowered himself down with the rest of the team.

The Russians didn't even stay to shake hands of sportsmanship, and instead sent him begrudging glowers as they retreated from the stadium. His own teammates returned the sentiment and gave him encouraging pats on the shoulder while muttering expletives under their breath regarding their opponents' poor attitude. Viktor frowned at Pyotr, one of the beaters, as he went by, wanting to ask him what the hell he had been doing while the opposing seeker had been all but on top of him. Shaking his head he decided to let it go, it wasn't worth it. They had already made new enemies with their brother team; they didn't need to be doing the same amongst each other.

His mother was already racing hurriedly down the steps calling his name as if he wouldn't recognize her. His father wasn't making as much of a scene, rather he walked at a decent pace sending him a congratulatory smile. Eagerly leaping up to grab his face, she brought him down to kiss both cheeks in earnest. Laughing, she let him up but turned his chin this way and that, examining him. "It vould appear your face has finally returned to me undamaged, my loff." She remarked, her eyes sparking mischievously.

Viktor snorted dourly, his face had been through enough as it was.

"I haff heard an expression about this, 'There is a first time for eferything.' " His father chuckled.

The manager came up giving him a merry clap on the back. "You could haff relaxed this game, Viktor. I doubt you vould haff needed to catch the snitch to vin this time."

He spared the short pudgy man a fleeting glance. "They are becoming more aggressif."

His manager gave a deep baritone laugh, placing a meaty hand on his shaking belly. "They haff to be to play vith you!"

Viktor clenched his teeth as he was once again clouted between the shoulder blades, jostling a particularly slow healing wound. "I must go shower now, thank you for coming Maika, Bashta." He said kissing his mother on the cheek and nodding at his father.

Bidding the manager a blunt goodbye he made his way to the locker room. A good number of the team had already apparated home, but there were a few that decided to linger and wash themselves in the arena showers. The other men he passed nodded in brief greeting and he was grateful to get to his locker and change. Tugging off his sweat-laden uniform he shivered when the cold air hit his bare chest.

"I apologize for my poor effort today."

He turned to see Pyotr changing next to him. "It is fine." He said in a clipped tone. It wasn't really fine, he was still a little miffed at the other player but he was sure it would be forgotten by tomorrow. There was no point in getting into a confrontation now.

"Ivon and I vere not gifing the match as much attention as ve should haff been. I belief ve vere playing around perhaps too much because it vos Russia." He confessed somewhat guiltily. "Ve should not haff relied on you to do all the vork."

Viktor glimpsed wearily at the bandage still concealing most of his forearm. Some blood splotches had bleed through and he was glad now that it appeared to be a real injury instead of something to be suspicious of. "Do not brood on it Pyotr, you vill do better next game." He replied undoing his belt.

"I vill." Ivon agreed, slipping down his pants he caught the wrappings on his friend's arm. "Vare did you get that?" He questioned, thick eyebrows drawing together in concern.

"Bashta purchased a new dog. It is not completely broken in I am thinking." He answered casually.

Ivon chuckled reaching into his locker to snatch a hanging towel. "I suppose not. My cousin Alik's dog has given new puppies last veek. If your father is looking for a replacement I could tell him so?" He offered.

Tossing his own towel over his shoulder Viktor consented. "I vill ask him." He said walking off to the showers.

Setting the rag on the nearest bench, he stepped under the heated spray, welcoming the soothing warmth like a friend greatly missed. The water seemed to flow through his ears and wash every burden from his mind. For a moment he just stood there, enjoying the mist's gentle massage. The spew of water weighed down his hair before his large hands slicked it back.

He had begun looking for the soap when his forearm started to throb. It wasn't painful, rather more of a disquieting feeling that had him looking down at it with a disgruntled frown. The small reddish blotches were now growing through the cloth, spreading like a scarlet plague across the white binding. His eyes flickered around the room, no one appeared to be paying him any mind and he took the opportunity to slip out and into one of the toilet stalls.

Anxiously unwinding the gauss he felt his stomach drop at the darkened mark, the snake swiveling excitedly over his skin. He hastily tied it back up and stormed out of the stall and back to his locker, leaving a wet trail of miniature puddles behind him. His clothes stuck irritatingly to his skin as he tried to pull them on over his damp body. His trousers were the hardest and he struggled a bit to yank them up his gangly legs. Barely dressed and still wet he darted behind a shower wall and apparated away.

Straight to the last place he ever wanted to return to. The room was definitely large but no grand hall, it reminded him of a cell-less dungeon. Only this one had the different kind of bars, the ones that followed you even beyond the room, the sort of bars that were inescapable no matter where you ran to. A long forest green carpet divided the floor and ran directly to a high, dark, and intimidating throne-like chair. And in that throne-ish seat sat what he had signed his soul over to.

Looking away he ran his eyes over the small crowd of followers, some he recognized from the hellish initiation, others he couldn't remember.

"Caught you at a bad time, did we?" The voice made the hairs on his arm stand on end and made him feel as though a putrid slug were crawling into his ears.

He watched guardedly as Avery examined his disheveled robes, his eyes trailing amusedly over his still dripping hair. His attention settled on a heavy drop balancing on the very tip of a dark lock at his forehead. The older man smirked and raised an idle hand to the coarse thatch, his inspecting fingers coming to an abrupt halt as Viktor snatched the thick wrist in a blood-stopping grip.

The tall young man held his piercing gaze in a fierce scowl and squeezed the invasive appendage.

Avery held back a wince and glowered. "You would be wise to watch who you lay hands on, boy."

Viktor would not be cowed down and tightened his already painful grasp. "And you vill be loosing yours if you raise them to me again."

Giving him the iciest look he could muster, Avery shook him off and casually righted himself. "Little late for that now isn't it?" He drawled smugly, dismissing the boy's glare and returning to a small group of older men conversing amongst one another.

Before he could begin to contemplate which of the man's barbaric deaths would satisfy him the most, a dry and rasping voice slid across the room, barely echoing off the walls. "My children, the time is almost at hand." Instantly there wasn't a breath to be heard. "It is time for the turn of this war and you will all have your place in it." He grinned, flashing rows of sharp yellow teeth. "Eat, drink, this is only a small taste of the spoils to come."

It was then that he took note of the few tables lined with food and wine. What was this? Some sort of party? Everyone began to speak again, though the noise level never rose above casual tones, as though no one had to talk over another.

"Krum? Viktor Krum?"

He stiffened at his name and glanced over to see an attractive black boy holding a glass of red wine at his side.

"Well, I heard we got a newcomer. Didn't know it was you." He said taking a leisurely sip from the crystal goblet.

Turning back to look over the gathering he expected the young man to take his leave but instead he moved closer and attempted to drag him into conversation. "I heard you were initiated a few days ago." He commented. "Not exactly kittens and sunflowers is it?" He remarked dryly.

"Vot do you vant?" Viktor bit out.

The other boy seemed somewhat taken aback, a change from the usual expression of complete and utter boredom that normally marred his handsome features. "What do you mean 'what do I want'?" He asked indignantly. "Have I asked you for anything?"

"I am not your friend, do not speak to me as one." He retorted.

Quickly the ennui-laden facade returned and the young man ran his coffee colored eyes over him cynically. "Everyone needs friends. Especially in this little club." He chided.

Viktor did not know if the dark boy was trying to intimidate him or inform him, but he was not one that took well to bullying. "I did not join your 'club' to make friends." He said with a threatening frown.

"Then call me an 'acquaintance'." Came the confident reply. "I'm Blaise Zabini." He introduced, offering his hand.

Sparing the ebony appendage a disdainful look, Viktor had to fight the urge to sneer at it.

Blaise caught onto the disgust and retracted the limb. "Right then."

Intent on ignoring the unwanted company, Viktor managed to spot a pair of heads covered in unforgettable platinum hair. So he had been right. He observed a very haughty looking Draco Malfoy standing regally next to his father who was otherwise engaged in what looked like a verbal battle of who could sound the most arrogant and obnoxiously superior.

"Yes you would have met Malfoy, wouldn't you?" it wasn't so much of a question. "I believe you stayed with Slytherin for most of your Hogwarts visit in fourth year, am I right?"

"It vos more Karkaroff's decision than our own." He corrected, albeit a little reluctant to discuss anything with his fellow deatheater.

Blaise chuckled bringing the cup to his curved lips. "Not a bad choice on his part. Gave you lot the best table in the house."

Sighing exasperatedly, Viktor touched the bridge of his nose, a habit he'd picked up from his father. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be a part of this or one of them. And he most certainly didn't want to be having a civil conversation with his so called 'brother in arms.'

"Speaking of which, didn't I see you at the Yule Ball with that Granger chit?" He inquired.

Viktor began to wonder if anyone would notice if he strangled the very life out of this little annoyance. He cast the dark boy a warning glower, daring him to further that train of thought.

Zabini obviously took the foreigner's silent treatment as a confirmation and he gave him a weary look, like someone about to tell the diseased they had five months to live. "You did know she was a mud-"

"I knew." Viktor firmly cut him off, leaving no room for chastisement or ridicule.

Now seeing him in a new light, Blaise tossed him a sidelong glance of distaste. "Yes of course." He drawled, unable to mask the condescending derision. Bringing the glass to his lips again he muttered, "Although I suppose we're _all_ allowed our guilty pleasures, now and again." He was careful with his wording, the older boy was a good deal bigger and Blaise was not raised stupid.

Had everyone here mastered the art of camouflaged repulsion? Viktor found it fascinating how people here could twist words of consolation and/or encouragement into something made to demean and belittle. Evidently honesty would have to be the first of his virtues to be cast aside with his new life choice. He wondered when this was all finally over, what kind of person he would be. What would be left of him? Left of who he once was. Slowly, he could feel himself slipping away, feel fading the Viktor too shy to ask an entrancing girl to a dance, the Viktor so enamored he practiced how to talk to the object of his affection, the Viktor that was too proud and brave to ever shame himself with the likes he was now surrounded by.

He glimpsed to the side and let his eyes skim over Zabini's striking form. His face was perfectly symmetrical; his body toned and made to gather attention. He looked attractive and stylish with his air of aloof superiority. Viktor had the dark thought of a fleeting insecurity that Hermione might be taken with such a man. He remembered childhood stories of evil being a grotesque monster, ugly queen, or even a hideous stepmother. And yet, here beside him was a very attractive young man. A young man that would aid in the suffering of millions and help hand the wizarding world over into a tyrannical fist.

It was disturbing that it was nothing more than a hoard of bigoted teenagers that would be the deciding factor in the ultimate downfall of peaceful society.

"I suppose you're nervous."

Viktor rounded his shoulders to pop a kink. "Vhy should I be? It is not my school." He said coldly.

Blaise shrugged and tucked his free hand inside his robe pockets. "Fair enough, though they _are_ people you know."

He didn't have to think hard on the implication and who 'people' was meant to refer to. "Vhy are you here? Vhy are you talking to me?" He snapped.

The other boy twirled his wine in its glass. "Oh, I apologize. Do they not have courteous discussions in Bulgaria?"

Viktor sneered. "I am not here to haff 'courteous discussions'."

"For that matter, why exactly _are_ you here?" He rejoined.

"I am here for my family. I am here to protect them and myself." These words were only the parrotings of what his father had told him. Justifying it with his family sounded a lot better than 'they pleaded with him to do it to save his own sorry hide.' "I am a surfifor, not a racist."

He watched as the other boy's chocolate lips turned up into an amused grin, eyeing him like one would a particularly entertaining child throwing a temper fit. "It does rather make one wonder what the difference is, doesn't it?" He remarked finishing off his drink. "Well then, I'm off. Best get to mingling."

And with that, the lengthy Bulgarian was dismissed like yesterday's Witches Weekly. Viktor looked away as Blaise sauntered off, presumably to find some other outcast to jeer at and talk down to. What in all abominable hell was he doing here? It made him feel like he was swimming in a pool of slime and filth with no way to crawl out.

The next few hours droned on like Chinese water torture. He stayed near the walls, away from the others, staring longingly at exits and waiting for someone, anyone, to take their leave first. So far no one appeared to even give going home a passing thought, as they drank on, grinning to each other like they shared a secret and laughing at jokes that weren't that funny. He wondered if he had stayed long enough that it wouldn't offend the dark lord if he excused himself from the rest of the festivities.

"Sulking in the corner now? How mature."

Viktor's lip curled at the arrogant tone, his fists curling in eagerness to pummel the younger Malfoy. "Vot do you vant?" What was it with deatheaters and their uncanny ability to sniff out the most miserable person in the room?

The platinum haired boy smirked and looked at him like the cat that finally caught the canary. "Saw you all by your lonesome and thought I'd give a shot at cheering you up."

"Vhy don't you run along back to father, little boy?" He growled warningly.

Draco's eyes narrowed at the slight and Viktor could see his lips tighten into a thin line. "Now now, lets not start projecting misguided anger, shall we?" He reprimanded.

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed his rising irritation back down to his belly. "I belief my anger is being guided correctly, thank you."

Malfoy sniffed haughtily. "And just what are you going to do? Beat me up?" He chuckled. "What ever would your little mudblood think if she could see you now? Not only becoming a proud deatheater but an aggressive brute as well?"

Viktor turned until his stood toe to toe with the now obliviously shorter boy. He looked down his crooked nose, thick black eyebrows set fiercely over dark eyes making vengeful promises. The muscles in his shoulders stiffened with a fury he worked ardently to keep in check. "You vould do vell to be on your guard tomorrow." His voice was low and as threatening as his posture.

The other young man seemed unaffected and perfectly at ease in the safety of his sea of comrades and peers. "Why thank you for your concern." He leered. "Same to you."

Pivoting on his heel he stormed towards the nearest hall, not caring whether it was an exit or not. He was sure someone had seen his confrontation with Malfoy, if the Dark Lord questioned his leave he would simply blame it on his conflict with the other boy. As soon as he was sure he was clear headed enough to apparate, he headed home feeling drained, worn, and older than his years.

His home didn't feel like his anymore. It felt like just another place, another sequence of rooms with the same four walls and ceilings and floors. He trudged over back to living room slumping into his most comfortable chair. "Efim!" He called weakly.

Instantly the house elf popped to his side. His ears drooped unhappily, already picking up on his master's anxiety.

"Get me a sleeping draught." He droned, throwing his hand over his eyes, willing his temples to stop pulsing.

"Igor brings a letter but he von't let Efim hafes it!" The little elf complained pointing accusingly at the white headed hawk.

Rolling his eyes at the nuisance, Viktor waved Efim away. "I vill get the letter, you get the sleeping draught."

The house elf reluctantly obeyed and disappeared, leaving the weary Bulgarian to rise back to his feet and grumpily trail over to where Igor was preening his feathers, obviously pleased to have the presumptuous elf out of its territory. The bossy bird was always very protective of his packages, never letting anyone near it but the one it was meant for. It stopped poking at his side long enough to watch Viktor untie the string holding the letter to it's leg. "Vicious little thing." He mumbled nudging Igor's breast.

Trekking over to the fireplace for better lighting he unrolled the parchment, icy and fragile from the cold. The raven ink was a stark contrast to the brittle yellow of the paper. Words spelled out in smooth cursive, written delicately and oh so feminine. His eyes ran over each sentence, able to hear her voice with her charming English accent play in his head.

_Dear Viktor,_

_I hope you arrived home safely, but if you're reading this then I suppose that would be a given. I also hope your parents weren't too terribly worried over your absence. Please give them my apologies if they were. I must say you seemed 'out of sorts' , for lack of better term, last I saw you. I won't inquire the reasons behind it. If you had wanted to tell me then I'd like to think you would have. _

Viktor, I don't want you to think that I'm only writing you now because of your visit. I do miss our letters, especially receiving yours, and I apologize for my lack of correspondence the past few months. It was in bad taste and I regret it dearly. When it comes to my education, I do tend to put it above most other things, even the ones that are just as important.

_I was also wondering, that is if this summer would not be the best time for you for me to visit, if maybe you would like to spend the summer with _me_ at _my_ home. Granted muggle London isn't exactly the most entertaining, magically wise anyway, but I imagine it would be a nice getaway for you to relax from the stress of quidditch and whatnot. _

_Besides, I mentioned it to my family and they're very eager to meet you. Its fine if you already have plans, I understand, but please write back what you think of the idea._

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

His mouth was suddenly very dry and his tongue felt heavy. His brain was either numb, or thinking so fast he couldn't comprehend a single thought in all the blur. She was writing him. She wanted him to be with her for the summer. She wanted him to meet her family.

God was a cynical old man that amused himself with sick, malicious, jokes. What this letter would have meant if he were only reading it a year, or even six months ago. How different things could have been. How could he be receiving it now? Reading this when the words no longer mattered. It was like waving a carrot in front of an emaciated rabbit. She didn't want _him_; she didn't want him to meet her family, to spend time with him. She wanted the Viktor who took her to the Yule Ball, the Viktor who wrote her with hope dripping from the paper, the Viktor who once kissed her like something precious, something fleeting. And that man no longer existed. Now all that was left was this. This tainted thing he'd become.

_---flashback---_

_His muscles were aching and blood trickled down the backs of his thighs. Sweat shone over his forehead, dripping over his brow and into his eyes. The jerking thrusts no longer hurt as much, maybe he was going into shock or maybe the blood was working as a decent lubricant. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take Avery whispering his depraved perversions in his ear. He was finding it harder and harder to loose himself in visions of inflicting every ungodly torture imaginable upon the man's bulking, aged body and struggled to think of something else to take him away from the jeers and crude laughing around him along with the burning spearing behind him._

"You're leaving tomorrow, then."

_Viktor closed his eyes, letting the memory of that soft, feminine voice fog his mind. He loved to hear her talk. That instructor-like tone she always had that bespoke her intelligence, yet there was that childish hesitation that presented itself in social situations that made her seem tentative and uncertain of herself. _

He nodded, not having anything else to do since everything that needed to be said had already been said. She knew he didn't like Durmstrang, she knew he wanted to stay with her, she knew how he felt. She must've.

"_Come now. Its not so bad." Viktor felt the man's chest, softer with age, lean against his strong back as he breathed in his ear. _

_Gritting his teeth he postured his shoulders, eyes focused on the wall to shut the rest of the world out. _

She nodded back with a firm resolution. He didn't want to leave her. Didn't she know that? "If you have the time, I'm sure your school and quidditch schedule must keep you very busy, I would appreciate a letter now and then."

He wanted to laugh at her. Silly little thing. She became more formal when she wanted to avoid getting hurt, making sure to pick and choose her words carefully. Smiling down at her frigid little features, his eyes sparked in adoration and from the way her lips thinned in indignation she must've took him for laughing at her. Fortunately, before she could retaliate, his large hands cupped her cheeks, his palms spanning the width of her face. He brought her up to meet him as he leaned down to press his lips firmly to her own.

_Viktor's fingers dug into the stone wall as the older man came with a grunt and a few clumsy jerks. He panted for lost breath, taking his time before he withdrew, his softening cock pulling out in one slick fluid motion, a small gush of blood flooding down in its wake. He could hear Avery chuckling and cringed as he delivered a stinging slap to his ass, smearing the redness in stripes across the pale skin. _

"_Welcome to the family, boy."_

_---end flashback---_

The crinkling of crushed paper woke him from his reverie, and he glanced down at the mangled form of letters and words. His fingers relaxed but the wrinkles in the parchment remained.

A resounding pop behind him signaled the return of his house elf with the medicine he'd forgotten.

"Efim's gots the sleeping draught just like master vanted." The little creature chirped, happy to have another chore accomplished.

He skimmed over the neat handwriting, curving and flowing in that delicate style. _'Dear Viktor,'_

"Master?" Efim questioned hesitantly stepping beside the brooding young man, debating on whether or not his master wished to be disturbed.

With jerk of the wrist the delicate letter flew into the fire, doing a dramatic twist before landing amongst the eager flames. Without another word, Viktor took the vile from the weary elf and downed the strong liquid in a single gulp. "Go to bed Efim." He muttered.

If the tiny servant gave a response he didn't hear it, instead he couldn't tear his gaze away from the last piece of withering parchment, an uneven circle of flames turning the edges black. A thin ring of ash glowing around _'Yours, Hermione.'_

The only sound penetrating the thick mist of silence was the crackling of the fire and his controlled breathing,but allhe could hear wasthat little Malfoy brat. _"What ever would your little mudblood think if she could see you now?"_

As long as he still lived, he would make sure she never did.

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Sorry for the long ass wait, guys. I'm finally in college and the first semester has been murder . But I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and R&R!

Luv

The Deni Pie


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